I Became an Artist in a Romantic Comedy Chapter 79

After completing the work on the Seiren, it was ti for the second project.

The mont had co to transform the world of the Gumiho. This one was estimated to take roughly three months as well.

“Then again, who knows? It might end quickly, just like the Seiren.”

Unlike the Seiren, which relied on oils, the Gumiho was primarily a watercolor piece. Its dium involved blending water with pignts—a delicate, fluid art form.

Watercolor painting has many techniques, but two key thods for this piece were dry-brush strokes and creating watermarks.

Each step was critical; there was no room for mistakes. But I was confident—after all, this was about reclaiming my own art.

“Still, watercolor can be tricky. You have to move your body constantly…”

The canvas had to be secured upright or laid flat on a desk to prevent the paint from dripping uncontrollably.

“Looks like I’ll be holed up in the studio for a while.”

Hmm, maybe I should also take this chance to focus on Hong Ye-Hwa’s painting.

I’d been neglecting it recently, and that had been bothering .

Might as well make the most of this ti.

“I could bring up the Prize while I’m at it.”

Since I’d already discussed it with Teacher Lee Ah-Reum, there shouldn’t be any major issues.

The only question was whether Hong Ye-Hwa would accept the offer.

I set the brush down and stretched.

The Gumiho painting sat in front of , unchanged. It seed both dynamic and static at the sa ti, a strange paradox.

“So much to do… and so little ti…”

I sighed, but no one was there to hear . The studio was empty except for .

Once this project was done, I planned to move into the old building.

“I wonder if I can enter halfway through? Or will I need to finish everything first?”

I had no idea how the magic behind the sketches worked, but one thing was clear—it was definitely the work of my infuriating ntor.

“If I ever et him again, I swear I’ll yank out his hair!”

Suppressing the anger bubbling up from deep within, I stood up from my chair.

I figured it was ti to wrap up for the day. It had only been three days since I started, but my stamina was already at its limit.

If I kept painting day and night, I’d end up overworking myself into an early grave.

If only I had two bodies, it wouldn’t be an issue. But with just one, it was sothing I had to worry about.

After taking a deep breath, I gently touched the Gumiho’s fra.

“I’ll co back tomorrow. I need to grab dinner.”

There was no reply, of course, but I felt as though the Gumiho was silently bidding goodbye.

After covering the painting with a cloth, I left the studio.

As I stepped out of Lee Ji-Cheol’s studio, the setting sun greeted .

The golden rays cast an almost ethereal glow over the streets.

“Ugh… I’m exhausted.”

The words slipped out before I could stop myself, and I quickly covered my mouth.

I couldn’t believe I’d admitted aloud that painting was wearing out.

Looking at my reflection in the glass, my eyes were wide as saucers.

But strangely, the sight felt familiar. The sa thing had happened in my past life.

When I painted the Gumiho back then, I’d fallen into a deep creative slump. Perhaps this was no different…

“It seems I’ve made painting feel like work again.”

Now, I saw it as a task bound by deadlines—a compulsion to finish by a set ti.

I wasn’t falling into a slump, but this mindset would undoubtedly cause problems later.

“After finishing this project, maybe I’ll take the family on a trip sowhere.”

As I began walking again, stepping out onto the street bathed in the sunset’s glow, I thought about what to do after finishing my work.

Co to think of it, while my family had traveled extensively within Korea, we hadn’t gone abroad much.

This year’s trip to the United States had been the first. I could still recall my mom and sister’s reactions to seeing Incheon Airport for the first ti.

“Right, there are two masterpieces in China. Maybe I could take care of them all at once.”

…And there I went again, letting my thoughts drift back to work.

“Ugh. Guess I’ll just have to finish everything quickly and rest even sooner.”

China had two masterpieces, and I’d heard that next spring, the U.S. planned to loan one of theirs to China.

That would an three masterpieces in one place.

Though the information wasn’t confird, it was certainly good news.

This would be sothing I’d need to discuss with my family later.

For now, the sunset seed particularly vivid. Maybe it was just my imagination.

***

"Watercolor is a dium where you don’t need to apply too much pressure," I said.

"Yeah, since the color softens when it mixes with water, there’s no need to press down hard," Hong Ye-Hwa replied.

"Exactly. But sotis, people unconsciously press their brushes harder, thinking it’ll make the colors more vivid."

"Ah… I think I do that sotis."

"It’s not a huge issue since it’s an unconscious habit, but it’s sothing worth correcting if you can."

I was working on the Gumiho while giving an impromptu lecture to Hong Ye-Hwa.

Multitasking, if you will. She was practicing watercolor painting on her own while listening to .

"When working with watercolors, it helps to think of it as spreading color rather than painting."

"Spreading color?"

She paused her brush and turned to look at , her head tilting slightly.

I glanced back at her without moving my head.

Thankfully, I was at a point where I was cleaning the brush rather than applying color.

"Think of it this way: unfolding paper versus opening a book. What’s the difference?"

"Uh… suddenly?"

Her face showed clear confusion, but I just shrugged.

"Hmm… I’m not sure."

"I didn’t know at first either. It’s sothing I heard once."

I had, in fact, heard it—from my infuriating ntor.

"Watercolor is a eting of color and water."

"What does that even an?"

"You’re too young to understand, Sanya. I’ll explain later."

"I’m 15. That’s not that young."

"Hmm. If you can answer this question, I’ll explain: unfolding paper versus opening a book. What’s the difference?"

"If you don’t want to explain, just say so, Master."

I could still hear his laughter ringing in my ears.

Back then, did I solve the problem?

“Of course not. My perspective was too narrow back then. But it’s different now.”

"A book shows you two pages at most, no matter how much you open it."

"And unfolding paper?"

"Just one."

"...Huh?"

No matter how you fold and unfold a piece of paper, it remains singular.

A book divides its contents into multiple stories or chapters, but paper cannot do the sa.

It holds only one world, one idea.

What if, instead of painting, I used writing to convey this?

The story might be complete, but it would feel unstable.

From an efficiency perspective, a book filled with pages is far more practical.

But my ntor had said:

"A book gives knowledge, but a single piece of paper offers nothing by itself."

"Could you stop being cryptic and just eat already? You’ve been talking about this for 30 minutes."

"However, by unfolding that single sheet of paper, you can do so much."

"You’re not even listening to . Miho’s going to starve at this rate."

"You can draft plans or even scribble on it."

"Miho, let’s just eat by ourselves."

The conversation should’ve ended there, but my ntor couldn’t resist adding one last remark.

"Unfold the future and write it on that paper. In watercolors, this is akin to spreading water mixed with color onto paper."

“What does that even an?!”

I hadn’t understood it back then, but as my artistic perspective grew, I began to grasp its aning.

Only later did I realize: my ntor had just been rambling nonsense.

I’d fallen for it, thinking there was so profound aning behind his words.

When I later confronted him about it, he’d laughed hysterically and admitted he didn’t know what he ant either.

“What an unbelievable man.”

Still, explaining it to Ye-Hwa now was unexpectedly fun.

She stared at with a puzzled expression before finally speaking.

"...You’re teasing , aren’t you?"

She glared at , clearly annoyed. While I’d been playful, her accusation wasn’t entirely fair.

“It’s not my fault I can only explain it as ‘spreading.’”

Maybe my ntor had resorted to all that rambling because he couldn’t explain it properly either.

"Alright, let show you the feeling instead. Your eyes aren’t ready for it yet."

At her current skill level, she’d probably grasp it soon.

I got up and moved to stand behind her, placing my chin lightly on her head and taking her hand.

My hand covered hers, guiding it toward the canvas.

Her face flushed slightly as she felt my hand over hers.

With her hand on the brush and mine over hers, we began.

Swish.

Slowly, under my guidance, the brush danced across the canvas.

Although it was her hand holding the brush, I was the one directing it.

"Get used to this sensation."

After those words, I let go of her hand. While the position had been a bit awkward, the results were what mattered.

"This is your painting," I said, gesturing to the artwork in front of her.

"...Are n’s hands supposed to feel this soft?"

She mumbled under her breath, though I didn’t catch it. From her expression, it seed she was trying to internalize the feeling.

"The Gumiho’s forest was painted using the sa thod."

After all, it was who had spread the endless forest onto paper.

"Um… could you do it again? I still don’t quite get it."

"I just sat back down, though."

Despite my words, I moved back into position.

Her lips curled into a slight smile for so reason, but perhaps she was just in a good mood.

I placed my chin on her head again and guided her hands once more.

I couldn’t wait to see her improve and join Teacher Ah-Reum in future competitions.